


heartlines (on your hand)

by words-writ-in-starlight (Gunmetal_Crown)



Series: turn to gold in the sunlight [1]
Category: Night World - L. J. Smith
Genre: Epic Friendship, F/M, Friendship, Gen, POV Outsider, Reincarnation, the author's latest obscure fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gunmetal_Crown/pseuds/words-writ-in-starlight
Summary: It was dawn, and Hannah was seventeen and radio silent, and Chess’ hands were shaking as she watched the sun rise with an unavoidable feeling of dread.Or, Chess Clovis goes down to Las Vegas to check up on her best friend, and Learns Some Stuff.





	heartlines (on your hand)

**Author's Note:**

> Well!
> 
> I posted [this list of fics,](http://words-writ-in-starlight.tumblr.com/post/178957575978/oh-my-god-night-world-was-my-entire-teenage-years) there's no one in this fandom, so here I am doing it myself. Someday I'll write a fic that doesn't have that backstory.
> 
> If you haven't read the Night World and you like soulmate AUs, I _vehemently_ recommend it.

It was the morning of May seventh, and Catherine Clovis was sitting on the floor beside her desk, a sealed envelope clutched in her hands.  She was having a hard time breathing—had been all night, and part of yesterday, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.  All she knew was that every time she took too deep a breath, it tried to shake out on a sob, and the sob sounded like _Hannah_.

Hannah had said that if Chess didn’t hear from her by her birthday, she should open the letter.  That it would explain everything. 

It was dawn, and Hannah was seventeen and radio silent, and Chess’ hands were shaking as she watched the sun rise with an unavoidable feeling of dread.

Chess wasn’t really an anxious person, not by nature.  She liked to dance and run and hug people, do things _big_ and _loud_ and _lively_ , and whenever someone asked why, she said simply that life was short.  You never knew when someone was going to leave your life forever, you never knew when your luck was going to turn sour for good, so why not kiss that boy and speed on that road and sing that song at top volume?

Hannah, who liked things under control and predictable, always wore a longsuffering expression when Chess grabbed her hand and declared that they were going on an _adventure_ , a hike or a drive or just a walk down the street to the one restaurant open every day in December.  But Hannah always went.

Chess believed life was short.  She didn’t know where she had picked up that belief, but she _knew_ it, deep in her bones, knew that she had to love every moment with the people she cared about as intensely as she could.

Because, see, she might wake up one morning and they might be gone, and she would still be here.

And now, for the first time since Chess could remember, really, Hannah had gone on an adventure, of her own will and all alone.  Had up and left, on the spur of the moment.  And Chess was still here.

Chess didn’t think of herself as an anxious person, but now her heart was racing as she watched the sun creep closer and closer to her feet over the floor, and as it gained first one floorboard and then another, her breathing grew shallow.

The phone rang, and Chess snatched at it before it could finish the first ring, jerking it to her ear and gasping, “Hello?”

“Chess?  It’s me.”

“Oh my God, Hannah, you’re _alive_ ,” Chess blurted, and it was only then that she put a name to the terrible thing that had crouched on her chest all night.  It was _certainty._ The impossible certainty that Hannah was dead.

“Yeah, I am,” Hannah said.  She sounded exhausted, and honest.

“Hannah, are you okay?  Are you hurt?”

“I’m—that’s kind of a long story, Chess, it’s—it’s kind of been a long week.  I just wanted to make sure you knew I was all right.  I’m not hurt, I’m safe.”

“I was so worried about you,” Chess said, still breathless.  “God, Hannah, I was so sure—I was so sure--”

And then Chess was crying, in a terrible hollow keen like Hannah really was dead and Chess was grieving her best friend.  She could picture exactly how it would feel, was the worst part, she could imagine with horrible clarity what it would be like to never see Hannah again, to never speak to her, to know that Hannah had been snuffed out of the world like a candle pinched out between fingers.  She _knew_ , as if she was remembering it, as if she had lived a hundred years in the feeling.

But Hannah wasn’t dead, Hannah was on the phone going, “Shh, Chess, it’s okay, I’m all right.”  So Chess clung to the phone like the only lifeline in rough seas and tried to gulp down the tears and the strange phantom grief and the night of fear, until finally she felt able to speak.

“You’re really okay?” Chess asked, brittle and choked with the ghost of her sobbing.

“I’m okay,” Hannah said.  “I _swear_ , Chess, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think—I’m so sorry.  Rip up that letter, okay?  Burn it or something.  I’m fine, you don’t need it.”

“I will,” Chess said.  “I’m—are you coming home?  When are you going to be back?”

There was a pause then, and a muffled noise, as if Hannah had placed a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone for a moment.

“I’ll be gone a little longer,” Hannah said.  “I’ve got some things to take care of here.  I called out of school sick all week and told my mom, she understands.”

“I’m—I’m coming down to Vegas.”

“What?”  Hannah sounded at a loss, blindsided.  Chess could relate.  She hadn’t planned to say it, but now that the words were out there, she turned the idea over in her mind and found it to be a good one.  It settled the frantic feeling and the grief, it felt like a plan and a solution and a next step.

“I’m coming down to Vegas.  I’ll—I’ll figure out the ticket, I’ll figure something out.  I need to see you, I was so scared, I--”  Chess cut herself off and took a deep, slow breath, wrangling down the desire to start crying again and not stop until Hannah was _here_ , until Hannah was _back_ and hugging her. 

“Chess, just—hold on one minute, I need to--”

Hannah broke off and Chess took the moment to breathe, counting in and out and feeling her head spin at the sudden rush of oxygen after hours of gasping.  There was someone speaking on the other end of the line, some distance from the phone and barely audible as more than a vague rumble, but Hannah seemed to be listening.

“Are you sure?” Hannah asked, turned away from the phone, and the voice said something else that made Hannah laugh, the sound so weary it seemed to weigh her down.  “Okay, then,” Hannah said, and muffled a yawn.  “Chess?  Hey, listen, can you get to the Billings airport in the next couple of hours?  There’ll be a ticket for a plane to Las Vegas from there.  If you’re serious about coming.”

“I’m—I’m so serious,” Chess said, scrambling to her feet.  She didn’t know how she was going to explain this to her parents, who were generally a _touch_ more involved in their kids’ lives than Jessica Snow—although she thought Hannah might be more grounded than she expected, if she was going to be gone all week.  But explanations were a problem for future Chess.  Present Chess was already groping for her backpack.  Pinning the phone between her ear and her shoulder, she stretched as far as the cord would allow and upended it on her bed, emptying her school supplies out and stuffing clean clothes from her laundry hamper into the bag without looking.

“Okay,” Hannah said.  “I can give you the address—wait, what?”  A pause, and the voice Chess didn’t recognize.  “Yeah, okay.  There’ll be someone there to meet you at the airport in Vegas.  Just go to the ticket desk for whatever airline has the first flight to Vegas, there’ll be a ticket waiting for you.”

Chess laughed a little, wetly, as she shoved a fistful of what she hoped were matching socks into her bag on top of her jeans and grabbed her wallet.  “I’m glad you’re paying for stuff, since you took my mom’s credit card,” she said, trying to make it a joke.  “But you’re going to have to explain it to her.”

“I—yeah, listen,” Hannah said, genuine amusement breaking through her exhaustion.  “Like I said, it’s kind of a long story.  I’m not going to steal hundreds of dollars from your mom, though, it’ll make sense when you get here.”

“Normally I’d kick your ass for leaving something that vague,” Chess said, scrubbing at her face.  “But I’ll let it go.  Just this once, because it’s your birthday.”

“Okay,” Hannah whispered.  “I’ll see you soon, Chess.”

“I’ll see you soon.  And—Hannah?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m—I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Hannah said, and she sounded like she was smiling, she sounded like victory, she sounded _alive_.  “Yeah, me too.”

And that was the story of how Chess was on a plane, in first class, looking down at the lights of Las Vegas below.

The first class had been a shock.  She’d expected to be wedged into whatever economy seat was still open four hours before takeoff, but instead, she had walked up to the Delta ticket booth after checking the departure screens and hadn’t even finished explaining herself before she was getting a ticket pressed into her hands.  She’d been ushered into a comfortable waiting area and given a free blanket when she mentioned offhand that she’d been up all night and on a bus for hours, and then boarded first on the plane and given something that actually resembled a full lunch rather than some pretzels.

If she’d been more awake, Chess was pretty sure she would have spent the whole flight gaping around her in awe.  As it was, that part of her brain that usually managed things like surprise seemed to have closed up shop for the day, and she stared blankly at the flight attendant offering her an assortment of pastries for no more than a few seconds before she took one and thanked the man.

Chess dozed fitfully on the plane, waking every few minutes from dreams she couldn’t quite parse, of people telling her things she didn’t want to hear in languages she couldn’t understand.  Twice, she woke with tears on her face and had to scrub them away quickly before the flight attendants, looking at the teenager traveling alone with concern plain on their faces, could ask her any questions.  Her last dream had been the clearest, the one that the descent announcement had startled her out of—if Chess strained, she thought she could almost remember the shape of the words directed at her.  Spanish, maybe?  Or French?  It hadn’t sounded like gibberish, it was real words, a real language.

The plane touched down, and Chess gave up trying to remember. 

Shouldering her backpack, Chess let the crowd sweep her off the plane and into the gate as she looked around.  She’d been promised a ride, but frankly, she had no idea who Hannah might know in Las Vegas with the ability to send a car at a moment’s notice.  She evaluated and discarded three people in suits who looked like they might be waiting for someone, and would have walked right down to baggage claim to check there when a voice called, “Miss Clovis?  Catherine Clovis?”

Chess snapped back to the second person she’d discarded—a handsome young man with long hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed in a suit and a cheerful expression, with what looked like expensive sunglasses tucked into his pocket.  In fact, all of him looked expensive.  Too expensive to be sent to the airport for an errand.

“Are you Miss Clovis?” he asked again.

“I—yeah, I am,” she said, blinking, and held out a hand automatically.  “Hi.  You can call me Chess.  I was told someone would be here to get me…?”

“That’s me,” he said, and smiled as he shook her hand.  His grip was firm and cool, and at closer range, Chess was just awake enough to notice that those sunglasses were definitely more expensive than any single item she owned save maybe her car.  She was guessing Ray Bans.   “My name’s Nilsson.  I’m Mister Descouedres’ driver.  Do you have any other luggage?”

“No, just my backpack,” she said, dazed.  “Who the hell is Mister Descouedres?  I’m looking for Hannah Snow.”

“I know.  She’s at Mister Descouedres’ mansion, he’s the one who paid for your plane ticket.”  Chess mouthed _mansion_ , and Nilsson kept smiling, radiating the kind of buoyant energy of a kid who had just woken up on Christmas, as if her frozen shock didn’t do a thing to dull his mood.  “Miss Snow is looking forward to seeing you.”

“This is crazy,” Chess said.  She felt blank, as if she’d gotten just enough sleep on the plane to get back to a place where she could be surprised again and then this strangely youthful suited guy with the expensive sunglasses and the boss who owned a mansion had gone ahead and startled her so badly she’d never get her brain firing again.  “Is this some kind of kidnapping scam?”

That made Nilsson try to muffle his good humor a little, although his eyes still glinted with his smile.  “I promise, I know Miss Snow.  She’s blonde, about this tall, grey eyes, birthmark like this.”  He swiped two fingers in a broad arc across his cheek, tracing the sweep of Hannah’s birthmark, and Chess nodded slowly.

“Okay,” Chess finally said.  Her life had taken a hard left into crazy when Hannah collapsed on her step a few days back.  Might as well embrace the situation.  “Sure.  Let’s go to a mansion.”

Nilsson made a polite _this way_ kind of gesture with his hand and led her out of the airport, to a car that wasn’t _quite_ a limousine.  He opened the back door for her like she was a Hollywood starlet, and pulled out smoothly through the parking lot gate, paying the toll without even looking at the number.

“You seem really chipper for someone who got sent to pick some random girl up at the airport,” Chess observed.  It was undeniably a bit contagious, his good cheer, and it soothed some of the frenetic worry that had taken up residence in her chest.  Nilsson smiled at her in the rearview mirror as they glided down the street.

“Your friend—she’s good for my boss,” Nilsson said with a shrug.  “And for the rest of us, sort of by extension.  We’re all just relieved that she’s okay, it’s been a stressful few days.  I’m sure she and Lord Thierry will catch you up.”

“ _Lord_ Thierry?”

“Mmhm,” Nilsson said dismissively, and Chess leaned back against the smooth leather of the seat behind her—it was, unsurprisingly, expensive—and tried to consider what she was going to do if she was as far in over her head as she was beginning to suspect.

 _Find Hannah and see if she’s okay_ , her brain offered timidly.  It was as good a plan as any.

It was just a few minutes later that Nilsson said, “Here we are,” and the car slowed to a stop in front of a wrought iron gate.  Chess tried not to gape too obviously at it—the black metal was bent and twisted into an elegant rose over the crown of the gate, and it opened for them as smoothly and silently as a curtain parting.  On the other side of the wall was a beautifully well-kept estate, the mansion gleaming white like a jewel at the top of the drive. 

There was a girl waving furiously to the car from the front patio of the mansion, and Nilsson came to a stop in front of her.  She bounded forward and pulled open Chess’ door before Nilsson could get out, and Chess was looking into a grinning face as the girl offered a hand.

“I can grab your bag, if you want,” the girl said.  She had a sweet, lilting accent, Mexican maybe, and scruffy brown hair that went oddly silver in the light, and she was sporting more than one handsome bruise on her face, like she’d recently gotten into a fistfight.  “I’m Lupe.  You’re Chess, right?  Come on, you must be dead on your feet, let’s go inside.”

 “Let her breathe, Lupe,” Nilsson said dryly, but Chess was already smiling back.  There was something honest in those eyes, in the way she snatched the strap of Chess’ backpack and threw it over her shoulder like it didn’t weigh a thing. 

“Oh, calm down, Nils,” Lupe said, and tugged on his ponytail as she bounced up the stairs.  “Come on, Chess!” she shouted back.  “While you’re young!”

Chess shrugged at Nilsson and followed Lupe inside before she could get away.

“Okay,” Lupe said, clapping her hands cheerfully as Chess caught up with her.  “So, you don’t really know anything, right?”

“Nope,” Chess said, stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets and looking around her with wide eyes.  The mansion was clean and elegant, the pristine white look of it accented with olive greens and touches of gold, like a Greek temple.  The rose motif was here too, carved into stone over doors and windows so subtly that it was only visible if she was looking for it, and there was a chandelier suspended from the ceiling of the entrance hall that cast warm golden light over the central stairs and the two corridors leading away to each side.  “This place is amazing,” she said, craning her neck to look up to the ceiling, two stories up.  “You and Nilsson live here?”

“Yep!” Lupe said, turning confidently down the left hand hall.  She beckoned to Chess when Chess lingered, and started talking again when Chess had reached her.  “I think Thierry gets lonely, he lets a lot of people live here.  We’re part of a group called Circle Daybreak, he keeps us sort of—under the radar.  And plus, he used to travel a lot, whenever he could get away from work, so half the time he wasn’t even here.”

“Thierry,” Chess repeated.  “Nilsson said he paid for my ticket.  Who is he?  How does he know Hannah?”

“Thierry—he’s our boss,” Lupe said.  “He’s a good man, he takes good care of us all.  I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to let Hannah tell you the rest, though.  Here, we’re going to go down this way to the kitchens, you look like you’re starving and we’re going to have to find Thierry and Hannah for you so you might as well wait there.”

Chess hadn’t realized until Lupe suggested it that, yes, she _was_ hungry.  Ravenous, in fact.  It was afternoon by now, and except for the pastry she had picked to pieces on the plane, she was pretty sure she hadn’t eaten since the previous day’s breakfast.  Food—any food—sounded incredible, now that she was reasonably confident that Hannah was nearby and safe and well.  Lupe was so happy, Nilsson had been so sincere in his good mood, that it was hard to question them.

Lupe laughed a little as Chess picked up speed, passing Lupe and rounding the corner a few steps ahead of her.  Around the next corner Lupe pointed out, Chess could hear voices—a young man’s and an older woman’s, discussing what sounded like a grocery list.

Later, Chess would write her distracted mind off to hunger, to worry, to exhaustion.  The truth, though, was simpler.  She was too used to being able to hear footsteps, and without them, she misjudged where the speakers were.

She crashed into the young man at some speed, and bounced off like she’d hit a brick wall.  As far as she could tell, he hadn’t moved an inch, except to turn to look at her in surprise.

“I’ve got it, Lord Thierry,” the older woman said, amused, and bowed as she left.

Chess wasn’t hearing her.  She couldn’t hear Lupe coming up behind her, either—she was too busy feeling her heart stop.

The young man—a teenager, really, not much older than her—had long fair hair and serious eyes, tall and thin.  Handsome, really.  The sort of person that Chess would have enjoyed staring at, if he had been wandering around Medicine Rock.

When he shifted to face her fully, Chess shrank back against the wall like she was facing a wolf.

“You must be Chess,” he said.

 _He’s going to kill you_ , Chess’ brain told her flatly, the same part of her brain that had sworn up and down that Hannah was dead.  _He’s going to reach out and yank you forward and rip your throat out._

He was saying something else, looking concerned, and Chess became aware that her breathing had gone fast and harsh, ripping out from between her lips.

She could _see_ it.  She could see how those slender hands would close around her dress—around her shirt—and how his teeth would sharpen, like a cat’s.  Like a demon’s.  And then she would die.

The stranger took a step forward, starting to be properly alarmed, and Chess flinched _hard_.

“Don’t touch me,” she choked out.

He stopped dead, and something—something she was much too dizzy and panicked to recognize—washed over his face.

“Ah,” he said quietly.

It was such a soft sound, not even really a word, and there was no reason for it to cut through the hammering of her heart so cleanly, but it did.  Sound rushed back to Chess in a terrible wave, just in time to hear him speak again as he spread his hands in front of him.

“I won’t hurt you.  You’re safe here.” 

“Boss!” Lupe barked, charging up with her fists clenched and a wild light in her eyes.  “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” he said smoothly, taking two quick steps backward, until he was well out of reach from Chess.  It didn’t make her feel much better—if she wasn’t plastered against the wall, Chess was sure her knees would have given out and dumped her on the ground by now.  “Everything’s fine.  If you could stay with Miss Clovis for a moment, I’m going to get Hannah.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lupe asked, sweeping that hard amber gaze around the hallway suspiciously.

“I’m fine,” the stranger—the young man said.  “Keep an eye on her, Lupe.”

And then he turned and was gone, and Chess melted down the wall, shaking.

“Hey,” Lupe half-cooed, crouching down in front of Chess with a strange fluid motion.  “Hey hey hey, _estás bien, chica?_ You don’t look so good.  Looks like you spooked Thierry a little, too, he normally doesn’t freeze up like that.”

Chess dragged in a breath that wheezed.  “I know him,” she forced out, voice shaking.  Her limbs felt numb, her heart racing until she felt like her ribs shivered with the impact of each beat. 

“Thierry’s been around a long time,” Lupe said anxiously.  “Lots of people know him.  Come on, do you think you can stand?

“No,” Chess whispered.  “He--”  She closed her eyes, trying to breathe, and a vision splashed against the darkness behind her eyelids.  The young man, his handsome face twisted into a sharp-toothed snarl, his solemn eyes blank and burning, fair hair and quick hands covered with blood. 

She opened her eyes and tried to restore order to her thoughts.  “I’ve never met him,” Chess said, raising her voice as if it would drown out the part of her brain that was still reporting absolute danger.  “I—I’ve never met him.  I don’t know—I--”

“ _Está bien_ ,” Lupe said.  “It’s okay.  He said you were like Hannah—an Old Soul—but we didn’t really expect you to remember anything.  Let’s get up, come on.”  She offered a hand and Chess forced herself to take it, trying to block out the panic and breathe slowly.  Lupe pulled her to her feet like Chess weighed no more than her backpack, still slung carelessly over Lupe’s shoulder.  Once Chess was standing, Lupe put a hand on her shoulder and smiled encouragingly.

“I—I’m so sorry,” Chess said, managing a shaky laugh.  She felt a little more like herself on her own two feet, and even if part of her brain was still demanding that she shake Lupe off and _run_ before the young man—Thierry Descouedres, evidently—came back, the rest of Chess was starting to feel guilty for coming so dramatically unraveled.

He’d looked so horrified when he realized that she was afraid of him.

“No worries,” Lupe said.  “It’s been a hard week all around.  Come on, I think some water will make you feel better, we’re close to the kitchens.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Chess said, shaking her head.  Her skin felt clammy with fear, and more than ever, she wanted to see Hannah, to prove to herself that Hannah was okay.  That same part of her brain had changed its tune, settling down to predict dire things if she left the familiar-but-strange man alone with Hannah.  “I just--”

“Remembered something,” Lupe filled in quietly.  She kept a hand on Chess’ elbow as she tugged her down the hallway again, as if holding Chess up by main force, and Chess was grateful.  She wasn’t entirely sure she could be trusted to walk without it. 

“I—I must be going crazy,” Chess said with another brittle laugh. 

“You’re not,” Lupe said sincerely.  “I don’t know what you remembered, but you’re really, really not.  Trust me, it’s going to get a lot weirder.  Come on, through here.”  She steered Chess gently through a door, and they were standing in a kitchen, all pristine chrome and bright, welcoming lights.  It was a huge room, every piece of equipment top-of-the-line, and Chess found herself being pushed down onto a stool tucked next to a stainless steel prep table as Lupe rattled through a cabinet to produce a glass.

“Thanks, Lupe,” Chess said quietly, reaching out to cradle the glass in both hands as Lupe held it out. 

The water was cold, and it _did_ help, steadied Chess’ breathing and made her head feel clearer, let her push back the unthinking buzz of anxiety pushing at her to get up and find Hannah _now_.  She could picture with terrible clarity seeing Thierry standing over Hannah’s body—Hannah dressed in a white shift skirt, Hannah dressed in a stolen blue uniform, Hannah made up like a geisha, Hannah wearing diamonds in her ears.  None of the images were quite _right_ , sometimes she had dark hair, red-brown skin, even stubble and masculine features, but they were all Hannah, somehow.

“You don’t have to sit with me,” Chess said as Lupe pulled over a stool of her own and started peeling an orange she’d pulled out of a bowl that looked like it had a more specific destiny than being bodyguard snacks.

“You still don’t look so good,” Lupe said, using her nails to pull the orange peel off in one solid piece.  “And also, I kind of do.  Thierry told me to keep an eye on you, and he’s the boss.  Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon with Hannah.”  She offered Chess an orange slice and added, “Some sugar will help.”  Chess nodded and wordlessly took the piece of orange.  It burst tart and sweet across her tongue and brought her fully back into the present with a start, the juice on her lips reminding her that she was still alive and therefore still hungry.

“Thanks,” Chess said.  “I hope I didn’t freak your boss out too bad.”

“Thierry’s fine,” Lupe said, gesturing dismissively.  “You might have shaken him up a little, but he’s kind of too old to really get freaked out.  And plus, Hannah’s here and she’s okay, so he’s okay too.”

Chess set her glass on the table and fixed Lupe with a narrow look.  “For real, how does he know Hannah?  He’s not from Medicine Rock—I’d have noticed.  And Hannah’s barely left Montana before today.”

Lupe smiled, and it was absent-minded, almost automatic at the mention of Hannah, and Chess realized again how much Thierry’s apparent good mood had infected everyone working in this mansion.  Everyone they had passed in the hall had been busy, but grinning like a damned fool.  Even the older woman Thierry had been speaking with, before Chess crashed into him, had been downright chipper.

“Well,” Lupe said thoughtfully.  “That’s a long story, and you’ll probably believe Hannah before you’d believe me.  But just—trust me when I say Thierry loves Hannah a lot.  He’d do anything for her.  And whatever you remembered, he’s a good guy.  The best.”

“I didn’t mean to upset him.”

Lupe laughed a little, scrubbing a hand back through her hair.  “Hey, listen, if he’s right about you, Maya’s probably done kind of a number on you too.  He won’t take it personally.”

“She’s right,” Thierry’s voice said from the door, and this time, Chess managed not to flinch.  She turned stiffly, to find that he had stopped in the doorway, far enough away that she could keep her breathing steady.  “I should have realized you might recognize me.  I’m sorry I scared you.”

Chess managed a fragile smile.  “It’s okay.  It’s just been kind of a long day.”

He smiled back, a small wry thing that mostly showed as a lightening in his eyes.  “It has.  Speaking of which.”  He turned aside and Hannah, breathless and pale and rumpled as if she had just gotten up and sprinted all the way to the kitchen, dashed through the door.

“ _Hannah_ ,” Chess breathed, jumping down from her stool just in time for Hannah to crash into her.  Chess buried her face in Hannah’s shoulder and hugged her around the ribs, squeezing until she could almost hear both their joints creaking, and Hannah hugged her back, cheek on top of Chess’ head.  Hannah seemed to be swaying gently on her feet, and the shirt under Chess’ hands was unfamiliar to her, a soft blue long-sleeved thing, but Chess could feel Hannah’s heartbeat and hear Hannah’s dizzy laughter and, all at once, the fear washed out of Chess’ bones.

Hannah was alive.  Hannah was seventeen and she was alive and the strange new part of Chess’ brain said it was a miracle.  The rest of Chess wholeheartedly agreed for some reason she couldn’t place.

“It’s okay,” Hannah was saying, still holding onto Chess tightly.  “I’m fine.”

“I thought you were _dead_ , and, God, Hannah, I think I’m losing my mind.”

Hannah finally released her, just enough to step back and hold Chess at arm’s length to look her over.  Chess did the same—Hannah looked pale and a little feverish, eyes glassy and cheeks too flushed against the washed-out tone of her skin.  Her hair had been braided back to keep it out of her face.  Something looked imbalanced, different, and Chess frowned, reaching up to catch Hannah by the jaw and tip her face down to inspect it.  There were some bruises scattered over Hannah’s visible skin, including a nasty matched set of scrapes and cuts at her wrists, but—

“Hannah,” Chess blurted, shocked.  “Where’s your birthmark?”

“It’ll come back,” Hannah said nonsensically.  “You’re not going insane, Chess.  I know what you’re feeling, it’s going to make sense.  But I think maybe I should sit down before I fall over.”

“I told you that running would probably end badly,” Thierry said, but he couldn’t muster anything even close to a reprimand.  Chess was pretty sure the look on his face could only be described as _adoring_.  He moved too quickly for Chess to follow, and he was at Hannah’s side before Lupe could even get up to help.  Hannah took his hand without a moment’s hesitation, letting him tug her onto the stool that Lupe had occupied until a moment before, and she kept a tight hold on him when Thierry tried to retreat again, backing away from Chess.

“Stay,” Hannah said.  Thierry hesitated, glancing at Chess, and Hannah tightened her grip, just slightly.  “Please.”

“I—of course,” Thierry said, and for someone who apparently had everyone in this house at his beck and call, he folded without any fight at all.  Lupe, who seemed to have foreseen this outcome, offered something that was definitely a formal bow and slipped out of the room as soon as Thierry gestured acknowledgement, closing the door behind her.  “I thought you might want to speak with her alone,” he told Hannah, “but if you’d rather I stay--”

Hannah nodded, brisk and businesslike, and he fell silent at once, leaning sidelong against the stainless steel table and letting Hannah keep a grip on his hand as if it was the only place in the world he wanted to be.

“So,” Chess finally said, when she was sure her voice wouldn’t be reedy and nervous with Thierry so close.  “You said if I came down here, I’d get explanations.”

“Yeah,” Hannah said, and smiled at Chess, a wry and crooked smile, like she was foreseeing a long conversation.  “So—hear me out here.  What’s your stance on reincarnation?”

 

An hour later, Chess was slowly eating the entirety of a box of Fig Newtons, which she had hunted down in a cabinet ten minutes in, and trying to resettle her worldview.  It was nice to know she wasn’t insane, and that Hannah wasn’t either—at Chess’ first automatic rejection of the word _vampires_ , Thierry had told her to take a deep breath and calmly, carefully, showed her his teeth.  That had put paid to any further protest.  It was less nice to know that, apparently, the reason she had been so sure that Hannah was dead was because, historically, she usually was.

“So she’s dead, right?” Chess checked for the third time.  “This Maya woman?”

“Extremely,” Hannah confirmed.

“And you,” Chess said, pointing a Fig Newton at Thierry.  “She made me see you, before.”

“As—insurance, probably,” Thierry said quietly.  She was beginning to realize that quiet and serious were his usual states, with a regularly appearing dash of guilt for flavor, but he stared at Hannah like a blind man seeing the moon for the first time, and Chess felt that this was a point in his favor.  “To make sure that someone would back her up, warning Hannah about me.  I—it helped, certainly, that you had already died at my hands.”

“That must be what I saw before,” Chess mused. 

“Probably.”

“You might be able to get some of your other memories back, if you want them,” Hannah said—hesitant, Chess thought, which was reasonable.  Handsome soulmate with a mansion aside, Hannah didn’t seem especially thrilled about the restoration of her memories.  Understandable, given that they all ended in grisly death.

“Is remembering always like it was before?  Meeting him?”  Chess nodded at Thierry, and Hannah was shaking her head before Chess could even finish.

“I think—most of the things I’ve remembered, things that aren’t—awful, remembering those wasn’t bad.  Old Souls are usually pretty resilient, from what I can tell.”

Chess thought about it for a moment, working her way through four more cookies.

“No,” she finally decided.  “I think I’m okay.  If I remember, that’s fine.  If I don’t, that’s fine too.  I like my life, I like who I am.  I’m sure the rest of my selves like who I am too.  Unless we find out that I need my memories to help kill another crazy vampire, I’m all right.”  Then she paused and asked, “Have we been best friends in every lifetime?  You and me?”

Hannah smiled at her then, wide and beautiful and full of uncomplicated joy like Chess hadn’t seen on her face in a long time.  “Almost all of them,” Hannah said. 

“And I’ve never met him?”

“We’ve spoken, from time to time,” Thierry said.  “But you were afraid of me in every lifetime.  The longer you lived, the worse it got.”

“Okay,” Chess said, and squared her shoulders, brushing off her hands and slipping off her stool to take a step forward.  She felt very short indeed, stepping up to arm’s length of Thierry—he was built on slight lines, but he was tall, taller than Hannah even, and she remembered, in a dimmer flash of insight than before, thinking that it was part of what proved he was a demon, in that first lifetime.  It required a deep breath, but Chess extended her hand in front of her like a civilized person anyway.  “Hi,” she said.  “I’m Chess.  I’m going to be the maid of honor at your wedding someday, so we’re going to be friends, got it?”

Thierry blinked at her in surprise, and hesitantly reached out to shake her hand.  “I’m—Thierry.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

And then he smiled at her, a small honest smile as if he hadn’t expected the conversation to go so well, and Chess was taken aback by how much it transformed his face.  He was always beautiful, of course—as far as she could tell all Night People were—but, smiling, he looked kind and a little hurt and very much like someone she could get along with.  When he smiled, she understood why Hannah—Hana—had tried to save him.

“Okay,” Chess said, nodding, and tried not to show how fast her heart was beating as she ambled back to her stool.  Then again, he was a vampire—he could probably hear it.  She reached down and picked up her backpack from where Lupe had tucked it between the stool and the table, then turned back to them and said cheerfully, “So.  Can I crash here?  I sort of didn’t think this through.”

“Of course,” Thierry said as Hannah muffled a yawn behind one hand.  “I’ll have someone find you a room.  If you’re missing anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Put her near us,” Hannah said, leaning into him.  Her energy seemed to be flagging now that she had caught Chess up, her glassy eyes at half mast and the fever flush on her face a brighter shade of red, and she didn’t seem to be using any effort to stay upright on the stool, depending entirely on Thierry’s presence at her side to keep her there.  “Sorry, Chess, I’m still kind of recovering.”

“Recover away,” Chess said.  “I need a shower and a nap, in that order.  I’ll deal with everything else later.”

“You can meet some of the other people staying here,” Hannah said—or tried to say.  Another yawn fought its way out of her mouth before she could finish, and Thierry’s hands came to rest on her shoulders, light and gentle but obviously firm.

“All right,” he said at Hannah let her head roll to the side so that she could look up at him.  “I think you should go back to bed and try to sleep off the rest of the change.  Chess, I’ll call Lupe back to show you to a room.”

“Can I have the rest of these?” Chess asked, holding up the Fig Newtons.

“Yes?”

“Awesome,” Chess said, and popped another cookie into her mouth as Thierry helped Hannah to her feet.  Hannah wavered like a flag pole in a strong wind, and without a moment’s hesitation, Thierry bent to wrap one arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees.  He picked her up easily, effortlessly, and Hannah linked both hands behind his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as if this pose was familiar.

“I’m really glad you came,” Hannah said, smiling wearily at Chess.

“I’m really glad you’re alive,” Chess said.  The words felt more honest than anything else she’d ever said, as if all those past selves had come together in eclipse for a moment.  “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Hannah said, reaching out to catch Chess’ hand and give it a brief squeeze.

“Sleep well,” Chess said, squeezing back, and as she let go she looked up at Thierry.  “Take care of her,” Chess ordered.

“I will,” he said, and it sounded like a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> If you _have_ read the Night World and you want to talk to me about it, hit me up [on Tumblr!](http://words-writ-in-starlight.tumblr.com)


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